


Held to your heart

by Vampiric_Charms



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: Sometimes it is easy for Yuuri to forget that Victor needs reassurance about their relationship, too.  Sometimes just as much as Yuuri does - and sometimes he needs that reassurance, that comfort, more than Yuuri, even if he doesn’t come out and say so.





	Held to your heart

**Author's Note:**

> Set a little while in the future, with their relationship on very solid footing. Perhaps they're already married! Possible trigger warning for all the times Yuri calls Yuuri fat (along with the other name-calling), but there is no discussion of eating disorders.
> 
> Enjoy!

Yuuri leaned back against the arm the couch, legs sprawled under a blanket and Makkachin curled on his feet, as he played a game on his Switch.  His practice had ended earlier than usual that day and it was only just after six o’clock, though he’d already been home for three hours while Victor stayed behind at the rink to work with Yakov on the finer details of his own short program where it had been getting stuck.

The apartment was quiet, calm, and the smell of dinner mixed with the soft tinny noises coming from the gaming system in his hands, the gentle light falling across the wooden floors as the sun set, Makkachin’s deep snoring - it all made everything feel so very much like home.

Suddenly Makkachin stirred out of her sleep and leapt off the couch in a mad rush.  Yuuri tucked his feet up out of her way before they could be nailed in her haste to run to the door and, sure enough, seconds later he heard the sound of a key in the lock.  The blanket was a lost cause, dragged halfway across the room. Makkachin was already whining and wiggling excitedly, pawing at the door and jumping up at it as Victor let himself inside.  Her tail wagged into a blur when Victor set his bag down in the foyer to kneel next to her, rubbing her belly when she immediately fell to the floor and rolled to her back.

Yuuri smiled at him and went back to his game before he died from inattention - it wouldn’t be the first time - and called out, “There’s dinner left for you warming in the oven.”

Victor, though, bypassed the kitchen and headed for the living room, where he crawled onto the couch and then onto Yuuri, under his arms where they were holding his Switch aloft to curl against his chest.  He let out a soft puff of breath, pulling his legs up close so they were tucked between the sides of the sofa and somewhere near Yuuri’s knees. He hadn’t taken off his shoes. Yuuri glanced down at him, surprised, and could only see the top of his head, the tip of his nose poking out from where his hair fell across his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pausing his game to brush the hair from Victor’s eyes.  They were downcast, staring at something far away and probably not actually in the room with them.

Victor just hummed and turned his face further into Yuuri’s chest.  His hair fell over his features again, hiding them from view. “Not hungry?” Yuuri tried instead.  “I can go get your dinner for you.”

“No, thank you,” Victor murmured.  “Not right now.”

And that was that.

Yuuri nodded and ran his fingers gently over the back of Victor’s head a few times before returning to his game, leaving a last, lingering look at his hidden face.  He hooked his arm securely around Victor’s back, holding him close, and unpaused the Switch.

Victor’s mood had shifted around lunchtime, taking a slowly sloping downturn, and Yuuri wasn’t sure yet what had caused it to spiral.  Yuuri’s practice had gone rather well, as had Victor’s before Yuuri left, so it wasn’t likely to be either of those things. Perhaps something had happened while Yuuri wasn’t nearby?  But then, he and Victor had been practically attached all morning, so anything that occured he had probably seen, even if he hadn’t recognized it at the time.

He would just have to wait.  Victor would tell him. He always did.

“What are you playing?” Victor asked softly, still burrowed against Yuuri’s chest, all along his side.  

“The new Zelda game,” Yuuri told him.  “I haven’t gotten very far yet, since we’ve been so busy.  I can set it up on the tv if you want to watch?” But Victor shook his head, a hand clenching in Yuuri’s shirt in a silent request to stay, and so Yuuri didn’t move.

Minutes passed in silence.  Every time dialogue boxes came up or whenever Yuuri didn’t need both hands to play, he bent his knees to rest the Switch against his thighs and ran his fingers over Victor’s hair.  It was fairly easy to read all the signs Victor was bleeding out of him just then, how desperate he was for comfort and touch without wanting to ask, and Yuuri was always happy to give those things.

Eventually Victor tilted his head a just little, still pressed tightly against Yuuri’s chest, against his body everywhere he could manage, to watch the little screen on the Switch as Yuuri played quietly through his game.  Yuuri, for his part, angled the Switch slightly so Victor could see it better and remained quiet, content to wait until Victor was ready to break the silence himself.

Sometimes, when Victor fell into morose moods like this, Yuuri could suss the reason out of him with enough cajoling.  It was a tactic he usually only availed himself of when they were trying to skate, when Victor was coaching him and something was obviously bothering him to the point of distraction but he was loathe to say what it was.  It was also a method that always failed when used on Yuuri himself, and Victor never pushed him when his anxiety flared miserably into existence, instead waiting close by with the patience of a true saint - of someone who understood - until Yuuri...until Yuuri was ready to talk.

He sighed, chest feeling tight with love and maybe a tiny bit of apprehension, and lowered his hand to Victor’s shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles as they pulled tightly in toward his neck.  Yuuri could push for the answer now, he knew he could. Victor would tell him if he asked again, or a third time, and he would hold no resentment for it. But no. Patience, patience and trust.

Yuuri leaned down a bit to kiss the top of his head and went back to his game.

Stillness settled over them again, broken only by the sounds coming from the Switch and Victor’s intermittent sniffling.  Yuuri wasn’t quite sure that he was crying, given his shirt was dry where Victor’s face was pressed against it, and so he made no comment.  Makkachin came over to nudge Yuuri’s arm, insistent for attention, and Victor reached out for her across Yuuri’s chest to distractedly scratch around her ears.

“Yuuri?”

Victor’s voice was soft when he finally spoke, far away with wherever his thoughts were, and Yuuri looked down at him, pausing his game.  “Yeah?”

It took another few seconds for the rest of Victor’s query to come.  Yuuri set the Switch down and put his hand to the back of Victor’s head, threading his fingers through soft silvery hair, doing his best not to prompt or rush.  It felt a little odd sometimes, being on this side of the comfort-giving when he was so often on the other end, being held in Victor’s arms as Victor whispered to him to breathe, that everything was okay, that he was loved and safe.

“Does Yura - does Yura really still call you those names?”

The question took Yuuri off guard enough that it took a beat for the entirety of it to actually sink in.  “What names?” he asked, baffled.

“Fat,” Victor mumbled his clarification, “stupid, lazy.  He calls you all of those things.”

“Oh.”

Yuuri continued to run his fingers through Victor’s hair, soothing, gentle, as he absorbed this as quickly as he could while the surprise of it washed over him.  “I mean, yeah? I just ignore him. He doesn’t really mean them as insults now, not really.”

Victor just let out a long huff and curled in tighter - though how that was possible when he was already practically wrapped around Yuuri’s entire torso was difficult for Yuuri to imagine even as it happened.  Yuuri still couldn’t see his face very well, which Victor was likely doing on purpose just then.

“Those words don’t upset you?”    

“They used to,” Yuuri admitted, remembering the days in Hasetsu after Yurio had arrived as a willowy ball of vitriol, ready to spit hatred at anyone who looked at him wrong - and Yuuri had definitely looked at him wrong.  “But now it just kind of reminds me of growing up with Mari, you know? Like a sibling, kind of. He’s a moody teenager surrounded by a lot of other teenagers going through the same thing. Didn’t you ever go through a rebellious phase when you were that age?”

Victor glanced up at him, his eyes watery as he tried very obviously not to cry outright, and Yuuri knew far too clearly then that _no, he hadn’t_.  He had been alone here, alone and quiet and forced to act like he wasn’t.  Yuuri held him tighter, not saying anything.

“No,” he said instead to Victor’s question, “it doesn’t bother me now, not here with you.”  Victor hummed his response and closed his eyes, but Yuuri still felt as if that wasn’t everything to Victor’s disconsolate temper.  He wasn’t exactly sure what the root of the problem _was_ , but...  

“Does it bother _you_?” he asked softly.

The answer was, again, long in its coming, and Victor opened his eyes but kept them cast away as he gathered his thoughts.  Yuuri continued the passage of his fingers through Victor’s hair, over his head, trying his best to breathe out patience and understanding as he waited for Victor to find the words he wanted.

“It’s my fault,” Victor finally murmured against Yuuri’s chest, “that he calls you those awful names.”

“What?”  

But this time Victor didn’t expand on his revelation, leaving it where he had without continuing, until Yuuri blinked with confusion as his heart started to pound.  “Victor, what are you talking about? You’ve never called me those things, come on. _Victor_ , no,” Yuuri insisted when Victor just shook his head, hiding his face away.  He could feel tears now on his shirt, Victor’s sniffling intensifying, and his stomach clenched, startled and scared at this reaction.  “Victor, I don’t understand - what - what are you talking about?”

Victor lifted his head, just barely, but it was enough.  Yuuri immediately reached over to brush his tears away with delicate fingers.  Victor’s breath hitched and more tears spilled out, though Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was from the gesture or from whatever he was still thinking about that he hadn’t shared yet.  Regardless, he wiped the new tears away, too.

“I called you fat,” Victor breathed, the words aching and fearful.

“What?  Victor - ”

“In Japan, just after I arrived.  I did, even if you don’t remember.  I didn’t mean it, Yuuri, I never meant it, I never meant it. But…”

Yuuri did remember, of course he did.  How could he _not_ remember?  He spent hours after the first “piggy” feeling mortified, he had cried over it and hated himself for the weight.  Each one added more of a burden to his shoulders until he wanted to die from the embarrassment, until he lost the pounds he had gained.  But he had come to learn, as he came to know Victor, that it hadn’t exactly been an insult, coming from him. Victor was just... _Victor_.  Victor who loved him for everything he was, even then.

That was so long ago, and it still did not explain -

“Yura was there, too,” Victor suddenly went on in a rush of words through his crying, his eyes pained, “he heard me call you - call you - and he must have picked it up from me?  And now he still calls you all those terrible things, every day, and each one because I can never control my own tongue. I’m sorry, Yuuri, I’m so sorry.”

Something clicked in Yuuri’s mind, about Yuri’s foul attitude that afternoon and Victor’s shift in mood, and he remembered then that some of Yuri’s vitriol had been focused at him when Yuuri had accidentally gotten in his way on the ice.  It had resulted in some very colorful language. Some very _teenage_ language.  But then Yuuri remembered something else, too, and he frowned.

“Victor, did Yuri not tell you about the Grand Prix Final the year I met you at the banquet?  When he was skating in juniors?”

Victor shook his head, tears still falling from his eyes like little stars falling from the heavens.  He was so beautiful, he always was. Yuuri caught the star-tears with his thumb, his other hand moving through Victor’s hair, back and forth, back and forth, hoping to soothe him as much as possible with his touch.  To make him feel loved, cared for, the way he was with all of Yuuri’s heart.

“He found me in the bathroom after I lost.  He really didn’t tell you about this?”

“No,” Victor croaked around the sniffling he was trying quite hard to manage.  “Why would he have?”

“I was crying in a stall after talking to my family.  Wait, no, it’s okay, I’m okay,” he smiled and forestalled any comfort from Victor before it could come, comfort for trauma that was now ancient history in Yuuri’s mind.  “Yuri heard me and he wasted no time calling me all number of insults. I don’t remember them exactly, but this habit he has, of calling people names - Victor, him calling me fat didn’t start because he heard you call me that in Hasetsu, I promise it didn’t.  We met before I even spoke to you for the first time, in some crappy bathroom with snot all over my face; our history with name-calling started _then_.  It isn’t your fault.”  

He paused to wrap both arms around Victor tightly, feeling him curl again against his chest without any kind of hesitance.  “I thought for sure Yuri would have told you about that,” Yuuri said with a small chuckle. “It was so embarrassing.”

Victor just shook his head, angling slightly to press closer to his neck now.  His face was warm, wet with tears against Yuuri’s skin. “Hard as it may be to believe, I was not as...hmm, approachable then, as I am now.  He would not have told me.”

It was meant to be funny, Yuuri could tell, but it still had such a sad note to it.  He held on tighter.

“I am still sorry,” Victor whispered, “for the things I said in Japan.  The mean things.”

“I know you are.”

They fell silent again, the minutes passing without notice or mention.  Victor’s hitching breaths slowly calmed as Yuuri gently rubbed his back, one hand finding his hair to keep running it through his fingers.  “You’ve never done anything to hurt me, Victor,” Yuuri told him softly. “Okay?”

Victor nodded.  Yuuri felt his eyelashes flutter against his neck as Victor blinked several times, the wetness of his tears flicking away with each one.

“Can we - can I take your shoes off?” Yuuri asked after a few more seconds.

“Oh.”  Victor raised his head slightly, enough to peer down their bodies at his feet, tucked by Yuuri’s knees and still tied into his expensive but well-worn athletic shoes.  He sighed and let his head fall back down, his eyes closing tiredly. “I forgot I still had them on.”

Yuuri’s chest constricted at that, that Victor, who always took his shoes off at the door and left them in a neat row under the coats on their hooks, forgot part of his daily routine with his distress.  He patted at Victor’s arm in a conciliatory sort of way, wanting so much to make it better, just a little. “Here, come on, let me take them off. You’ll be more comfortable.”

Victor made an unhappy sound, but he let Yuuri sit them both up so he could guide Victor’s feet into his lap to untie the pristine laces of his shoes.  It only took a minute, less than that, before Yuuri dropped the sneakers on the floor by the couch near where Makkachin was dozing. He pulled Victor back into his arms, lying down again with him against his chest where they were before.

“Yes, you were right,” Victor mumbled almost directly into Yuuri’s shirt.

“Hm, about what?”

“This is more comfortable.”

Yuuri grinned, turning his head enough to kiss Victor’s forehead right near his hairline.  He left his lips there, pressed against Victor’s warm skin. “I’m always right, when will you realize that?”

Victor laughed, just a short chuckle, but it felt like a hard-won victory after the turmoil of the last thirty minutes.  Yuuri tugged him closer, and Victor tucked his head back into the crook of Yuuri’s neck. His cheeks were not nearly as wet, as tear-stained, as they had been.  Everything was fine now, everything was fine.

“Do you want dinner?” Yuuri asked, not as timid as he may have been a few minutes ago, a few months or years ago, in the face of Victor’s desperate melancholy, the depression that clung with sharp claws to the sweet tenderness of Victor’s soul.  “It’s just grilled chicken and vegetables, but I can make you something else instead. Whatever you want.”

There was only the tiniest pause before Victor mumbled, “Tiramisu?”  He flashed Yuuri a tiny lopsided grin, half of it pressed into Yuuri’s now-damp shirt.

It was such a non-answer that Yuuri’s heart ached.  Instead of asking for some kind of quick soup, or the pan-seared yellowfin dish Yuuri’s mother made that Victor salivated over every time it was put on the table, or even takeout from down the street...Victor asked for something he was almost positive he would not get, something he knew he should not eat.

A frown flitted across Yuuri’s face for a quick, fleeting second before he chased the brief heartache away with another little smile.  “How about,” he offered, “tiramisu tomorrow night on the condition you make the custard? I’ll do everything else, but I can never get the custard as perfect as you can.”

The smile he got in return, beaming and bright and oh-so-contagious, the exalted exhalation of his name, was worth all the flack they would both receive from Yakov if he ever found out about their dalliances with their diet, rare though they were.

But that still left the matter of tonight’s meal, and so Yuuri asked, trying hard not to prod the matter, “Grilled cheese for now instead?  I can use the chicken and veggies in the oven.”

Victor’s smile softened, his eyes glittering with those star tears as they dried away with his sadness, and he was still so, so beautiful.  He freed an arm from under the weight of his own limp body pressed tightly to Yuuri’s and reached up to to trace a finger over the curve of Yuuri’s cheek, along his jaw.  “I love you,” he whispered reverently.

Even after all the time they’d been together, all the times he’d heard those words, a familiar blush colored Yuuri’s cheeks under Victor’s gentle fingertip.

“Love you, too, Victor,” Yuuri replied softly, happily, sweetly.

Grilled cheese was, eventually, the dinner Victor decided on.  It took a while longer to leave the couch, and when they did Victor still clung.  To Yuuri’s shirt, to his arm, to his hand. He clung as Yuuri cooked, as they laughed at the way Phichit, all those years ago back in Detroit, encouraged Yuuri's penchant for American junk food.  He clung even as a smile, small and genuine, wound around his lips as they settled back on the sofa to eat. He clung as his aching heart eased its fear, as they got ready for bed. He clung as they got under the sheets, tired and ready to sleep.

But through it all, Yuuri made sure he clung back just as hard.  

Made sure he showed Victor how much he heard that wasn’t said, and just how much he cared, said or not.

 


End file.
